


A Second Chance

by Sjp



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25671310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sjp/pseuds/Sjp
Summary: Jaskier and Geralt run into each other a few months after the dragon hunt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 152





	A Second Chance

Jaskier took a deep flourishing bow at the raucous round of applause. The nobles were deep into their cups by now and were noticeably more rowdy and noisy, just the way he preferred it. They were much less stingy with their appreciation of his musical talents once the wine and mead flowed and Jaskier basked in their attention. 

He lived for these moments and couldn’t picture a time when he would get tired of it. He was meant for the limelight and nothing else. He’d learned as much the hard way when he’d foolishly thought he could have more than the quick love affair he had with his audience. He was fun to have around for a while but not much longer than that. 

“I’ll be taking my break now, gentlemen, but I’ll be back soon enough. Try not to miss me.” He winked at the band and received a few eyerolls in return.

Jaskier stepped up to the buffet they had lined up and grabbed himself a small sweet roll to help curb the hunger he’d built up from performing for so long. He’d devoured half of it when he felt a light tap to his shoulder.

Jaskier grinned and placed the rest of the sweet bread down. It was probably the lovely little brunette that he’d had his eye on the entire night and had her attention in turn. He subtly adjusted his doublet and spun around with a playful smirk pulling at his lips.

“Well hell-,” Jaskier trailed off, his smirk fading away when he was greeted with the sight of golden eyes rather than brown. “Oh.” Geralt. Quite literally the last person he’d thought he’d run into. Also the last person he wanted to talk to. The very last. 

“Not to cast any aspersions on your enhanced sight but you might want to get that looked into. I believe the person you’re looking for is seated right over there.” Jaskier shot a quick look to his right and motioned to the table where the Count was entertaining his guests as he did his damndest to avoid meeting Geralt’s eyes or looking in his general direction for that matter.

“Though I’d wait till morning to inquire about the contract. He has a bit of nasty temper when he’s interrupted or so I’ve heard.”

“Already collected payment,” Geralt answered quietly.

“Well then, I assume you’ve been invited to stay and enjoy the party. Don’t let me interrupt. Carry on,” Jaskier dismissed him, wanting to put as much distance as possible between them.

He nodded and made to turn around but Geralt’s low rumble of ‘Jaskier’ made him pause even after months apart. The sound of his voice still made his insides bloom with the kind of warmth that nothing else had been able to inspire. It almost made him want to hate Geralt for having such an affect on him but he never could quite manage to do more than feel rage, resentment, heart ache, and regret.

“You will have to excuse me. I only meant to take a quick break. Can’t let the band hog all the attention now can I?”

Jaskier only made it about two steps before Geralt’s calloused hand wrapped around his wrist in a firm but painless grip. 

“Please,” Geralt asked, actually asked as if he cared about his opinion on the matter. And wasn’t that just rubbing salt on his freshly bleeding wound? Where in the devil had that attitude been in all of the twenty two years he’d so foolishly and loyally followed after Geralt?

“Already tired of your blessing,” Jaskier spat at him. That got Geralt to let him go and he couldn’t help the small thrill of vindictiveness that came with it. Although he couldn’t bring himself to hate the witcher, it didn’t mean he wasn’t a petty, petty man.

“It was never a blessing.”

The words hit him like an unexpected blow to the face and he gaped after Geralt as the witcher turned around and deftly walked through the crowd of drunken nobles dancing to the music the band was playing. 

He stood paralyzed longer than he’d like to admit but as soon as Jaskier was able to feel his legs, he ran after Geralt. Well, more like politely shoved and pushed the drunken fools out of his way. It took more effort than he’d cared for, not wanting to lose track of Geralt, not after _that_. 

He took in a deep breath when he finally stumbled out of the heat of the crowd and into the cool night air. But he only took a second for himself before his eyes started darting around until they landed on Geralt’s familiar figure already mounted on top of Roach and riding for the gates. Fuck. 

“Wait!” 

Jaskier ran as fast as his legs would carry him and felt relief when he saw Geralt stop Roach mid-canter. Not even a year apart and he already felt the strain in his muscles from the lack of his long trips with the witcher. 

“You can’t just-” Jaskier huffed when he reached Roach and bent over for a moment to catch his breath. “Leave,” he finished and looked up Geralt. 

“You didn’t want to talk,” Geralt answered simply, the infuriating man. 

“Well now I do.” Jaskier glared at him, hands on his hips. “What was that back there?”

Geralt sighed and gracefully, as only a witcher could, dismounted Roach. 

Jaskier’s eyes finally lingered on the gorgeous face that haunted his every thought and greedily drunk in every detail. That was why he hadn’t wanted to look at him. It was so easy to lose himself in that face and those eyes and it would only hurt to be parted from them again. 

“I wanted to talk,” Geralt answered and said nothing else. It made Jaskier want to rip his hair out in frustration. 

“Yes, I managed to glean that, but _why_? Why did you say it was never a blessing?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and raised his brows at Geralt. He wasn’t sure what the answer would be nor was he sure what he wanted it to be. 

There were times when all he wanted was for Geralt to seek him out and apologize. But there were also times when he’d pictured himself telling the witcher off until he’d felt as small as he’d made Jaskier feel on the mountaintop and the bard would walk away with his head held high. He’d never really thought either would happen, yet here they were. Geralt, stoic and silent. Jaskier, trying his best not to feel an ounce of hope. 

“It’s the truth.”

“Really? Because what you yelled at me after the dragon hunt felt like the truth.” He he’d up his hand before Geralt could say another word. “You always insisted we weren’t friends and fool that I was always thought you never meant it. That it was just something you said because of witcher sensibilities. But you meant it then and you meant what you said on the mountain.”

Geralt had to have meant it. He wouldn’t have said it otherwise, right? It wouldn’t have occurred to him if it hadn’t already been on his mind at some point in their travels together. 

“We are friends, Jaskier.”

Words that he’d longed to hear for so long made him cringe in disbelief. 

“Why,” Jaskier asked, voice cracking midword. “Why did it take so long for you to admit it? For you to treat me like I was more than a convenient punching bag?”

He glanced up, his eyes pleading for the answer, an answer, anything that would explain away Geralt’s refusal to acknowledge their friendship. 

Geralt looked at a loss. “I- I don’t know.”

Jaskier shook his head, tears in his eyes, and looked away. It was honest but nowhere near good enough. “I can’t go through that, not again.”

Geralt walked up to him and gingerly placed his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders. “Then don’t.” 

Jaskier deflated. That was it then. Truly the end of whatever there was between them. He couldn't really blame Geralt. Everyone eventually left and the only thing they all had in common was him. He was the problem, he always had been. 

“I’ll do better if you’re willing to give me another chance.”

Jaskier’s mouth repeatedly opened and closed, nothing actually coming out. For someone that wasn’t well versed in words, Geralt had done a marvelous job of throwing him off balance.

He swallowed and met Geralt’s gaze. 

“I want to say yes, everything in me right now is screaming for me to say yes but I fear that we’ll end up here again. I can’t change who I am, Geralt. I’ll still be loud and talk and sing all the time. I’ll annoy you until you finally realize that you were better off without me.”

“It won’t happen.”

“How can you possibly know that,” Jaskier all but yelled in frustration, still trying to staunch the voice in his head insisting he could have this and be with Geralt. “I already did it once and chances are good that I’ll do it again.”

“I was never mad at you. Annoyed? Yes, constantly,” Geralt confirmed.

Jaskier turned his head away with a disappointed and hurt huff. “That’s exactly my poi-”

Geralt’s hand carefully cupped the back of his head and turned it so they were looking at each other. 

“But,” he pointedly interrupted, “I want you to annoy me. I’ve grown to like it, to _want_ it. I was mad at myself after the dragon hunt.” His teeth ground together and he admitted, “it was easier to blame you. To take it out on you like... a punching bag.” 

Geralt looked ashamed of himself. “It won’t happen again.”

Jaskier tried to find a lie in those words, in Geralt’s face but couldn’t. Or maybe he didn’t want to. His gut and his heart were telling him that it was the truth and they had been right before when he’d followed Geralt out of the tavern back in Posada when everyone else would have let the witcher alone. 

“I want to annoy you.” Jaskier closed his eyes and smiled when Geralt pressed their foreheads together. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

“I look forward to it.”


End file.
